GEORGE SHAW - The Complete Works

“Ah,” she said. “That was an unworthy act. You, whom I have succored — my husband’s friend! My God, is it possible that an English gentleman can be so base!”

“Curse the fellow!” cried the young man, writhing and shedding tears of pain. “Give me something to stop this agony — some chloroform or something. Send for a doctor. I shall go mad. Oh, Lord !”

“You deserve it well,” said Aurélie, “Come, monsieur, control yourself. This is childish.” As he subsided, exhausted, and only fetching a deep sigh at intervals, she relented and called the old woman who seemed to have been waiting outside for she came at once.

“He has hurt his wound,” said Aurélie in an undertone. “What can we do for him?”

The woman shrugged herself, and had nothing to suggest. “Let him make the best of it,” she said, “I can do nothing for him.”

They stood by the sofa and watched him for some time in silence. At last he opened his eyes, and began to appear more at ease.

“Would you like to drink something?” said Aurélie coldly.

“Yes.”

“Give him some soda water,” she said to the old woman.

“Never mind,” he said, speaking indistinctly in his effort to avoid stirring his upper lip. “I don’t want anything. The cartilage of my nose is frightfully tender, but the pain is going off.

“It is now very late, and I must retire, monsieur. Can we do anything further to ensure your comfort?”

“Nothing, thank you.” Aurélie turned to go.

“Mrs, Herbert.” She paused. “I suppose no one could behave worse than I have. Never mind my speaking before the old lady: she doesn’t understand me. I wish you would forgive me. I have been severely punished. You cannot even imagine the torture I have undergone in the last ten minutes.”

“If you regret your conduct as you ought,” began Aurélie severely.

“I am ashamed of it and of myself; and I will try hard to be sorry — in fact, I am very sorry I was disappointed. I should be more than mortal if I felt otherwise. But I will never do such a thing again.”

“Adieu, monsieur,” said Aurélie coldly. “I shall not see you again, as you will be gone before I am abroad tomorrow.” And she left the room with a gravity that quelled him.

“What hast thou been doing now, rogue?” said the old woman, preparing to follow Aurélie. “What is it thou shouldst regret?”

By way of reply, he leered at her, and stretched out his arms invitingly.

“Thou shalt go out from my house tomorrow,” she said threateningly; and went out, taking the lamp with her. He laughed, and composed himself for sleep. But he was thirsty and restless, and his face began to pain him continuously. The moon was still shining; and by its light he rose and prowled about softly in his stockings, prying into drawers and chiffoniers, and bringing portable objects to the window, where he could see them better.

When he had examined everything, he sparred at the mantelpiece, and imagined

himself taking vengeance on Anatole. At last, having finished the soda water, he lay down again, and slept uneasily until six o’clock, when he rose and looked at himself in a mirror. His hair was disheveled and dusty; his lip discolored; his eyes were inflamed; but the thought of rubbing his soiled face with a towel, or even touching it with water made him wince. Seeing that he was unpresentable, and being sober enough to judge his last nights conduct, he resolved to make off before any of the household were astir. Accordingly, he made himself as clean as he could without hurting himself. From his vest pockets, which contained fourteen francs, an English half-crown, a latchkey. a lead pencil, and a return ticket to Charing Cross, he took ten francs and left them on the table with a scrap of paper inscribed Pour la belle propriétaire — Hommage du misérable Anglais.” Then, on another scrap, which he directed to Aurélie, as follows:

“I hope you will forgive me for behaving like an unmitigated cad last night, As I was not sober and had had my sense almost knocked out of me by a foul blow, I was hardly accountable for what I was doing. I can never repay your kindness nor expiate my own ingratitude; but please do not say anything about me to Mr Herbert, as you would get me into no end of trouble by doing so. I am running away early early because I should be ashamed to look you in the face now that I have recovered my senses — Yours, most gratefully—”

He “took several minutes to consider how he should sign this note. Eventually he put down the initial C only. After draining the soda-water bottle of the few flat and sickly drops he had left in it the night before, he left the room and crept downstairs, where he succeeded in letting himself out without alarming the household. The empty street looked white and spacious in the morning sun; and the young man — first looking round to see that no one was at hand to misinterpret his movements — took to his heels and ran until he turned a corner and saw a policeman, who seemed half disposed to arrest him on suspicion. Escaping this danger, he went on until he found a small eating house where some workmen were breakfasting. Here he procured a cheap but plentiful meal,and was directed to the railway station, whither he immediately hastened. A train had just arrived as he entered. As he stood for a moment to watch the passengers coming out, a hand was laid gently on his arm. He turned, and confronted Adrian Herbert, who looked at him with a quiet smile.

“Well, Charlie,” he said: “so this is Hounslow, is it? What particular branch of engineering are you studying here?”

“Who told you I was at Hounslow?” said Charlie, with a grin.

“Your father, whom I met yesterday at Mrs. Hoskyn’s. He told me that you were working very hard at engineering with a tutor. I am sorry to see that your exertions have quite knocked you up.”

“On the contrary, somebody else’s exertions have knocked me down. No, I ran over here a few days ago for a little change. Of course I didn’t mention it to the governor: he thinks Paris a sink of iniquity. You needn’t mention it to him either, unless you like.”

“I hope I am too discreet for that. Did you know that Mrs. Herbert is in Paris?”

“Is she? No, I didn’t know it: I thought she was with you in Kensington. I hope you will have a good time here. ‘‘

“Thank you. How long do you intend to stay?”

“Oh, I am going back directly. If I don’t get a train soon, I shall starve; for I have only two or three francs left to keep me in sandwiches during the voyage.”

“Draw on me if you are inconvenienced.”

Thanks,” said Carlie, coloring. “but I can get on well enough with what I have — at least if you could spare me I if you could spare me five franks — Thanks awfully. I have run a rig rather this time; for I owe Mary five pounds already on the strength of this trip. It is a mistake coming to Paris. I wish I had stayed at home.”

“Well, at least you have had some experience for your money. What has happened to your lip? Is it a bruise?”

“Yes, I got a toss. It’s nothing. I’m awfully obliged for—”

“Not at all. Have you breakfasted yet? What, already! You are an early bird. I was thinking of asking you to breakfast with me. I do not wish to disturb my wife too early, and so will have to kill some time for a while. By the by, have you ever been introduced to her?

“No,” “said Charlie hastily; but nothing would induce to me to face her in this trim. I know I look a perfect blackguard. I can’t wash my face; and I have a blue and and green spot right here” — touching the hollow of his chest— “which would make me screech if anyone rubbed me with a brush. In fact I shall take it as a particular favor if you wont mention to her that you have met me. Not that it matters much, of course; but still—”